


Not In The Cards

by TheShadowsAreNotWatching



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShadowsAreNotWatching/pseuds/TheShadowsAreNotWatching
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an unmarriable elven bastard is better off with a drunken, easily tricked gnome.Or: Scanlan wins a hand of cards, wins a husband, loses husband, breakes out of prison with said husband, fucks around the Tal'Dorei continent, accidentally robs a bank, accidentally writes My Immortal, and somewhere along the way falls in love with his husband.Eventually.





	1. You Win Some, You Lose Most

             The thing was, Scanlan didn’t really know how to fold. There was never anything to gain for him to stop. There was never much on the line for him, ‘cept for his dignity and his life and his money. So he said, sure, why not deal me in. Sure, why not, when one of the gentlemen at the private club was he playing at asked him to fill in so they had enough for a good game of poker. Sure, why not, he doubled and tripled down and bluffed and somehow ended up amassing a truly stupid amount of gold. Sure, why not, when he was poured drink after drink after drink.

              Sure, why not, bet something that’s not money—just write it on that slip of paper. Your first born? Cool, he always wanted a minion. You need me to sign something? Well, this _excellent_ sherry.

              Look, Scanlan’s only surprise when waking up in a tavern with one of the worst hangovers of his life was how much of his coin and his clothes he _didn’t_ lose. The feather boa quite nicely co-ordinated with his bath robe.

              Well, that was his only surprise until he opened his wallet. Less than he had thought, but he played like shit when he was drunk. He saw a piece of paper which he vaguely remembered being given and he saw his signature which he vaguely remembered giving and he vaguely remembered everyone finding that _really funny_ which didn’t make sense until he read it over clearly.

              Marriage contract—oh fuck.

  
              The rest of the night didn’t come back, but his dinner sure did. When a courtier came to his room, Scanlan wasn’t sure what appalled him more—the gnome, the loosely-tied magenta bathrobe, or the lingering stench of vomit in the room. Maybe all three.

             

              The courtier led him around Syngorn and he found his eyebrows raising as he was led into progressively fancier and fancier parts of town. Part of him felt weird being around elves who probably didn’t notice him because their noses were too high up in the air, part of him internally cheered. Some rich lord got super wasted, accidentally gave away his daughter’s hand in marriage to that suave, sophisticated gnome over there. Now that they were both suffering the consequences of last night’s drinking, he’d rid Scanlan of the consequences of signing that piece of paper.

              No one who lives in this neighborhood would marry a child of theirs to Scanlan which suited Scanlan quite well because he ain’t getting married. He was a free gnome with a whole world to explore. Commitment, never met her. Scanlan—unwashed, unsightly, musician—was here to go home free.

 

 

              “I want you to marry my son.”

              “What.”   He had been led into a parlor—pretty nice, but not extraordinarily extravagant. He’d been served Oolong tea on nice white china and introduced to a man called Syldor who was apparently some kind of diplomat. Scanlan kind of wondered at that because ‘I want you [random gnome] to marry my son’ wasn’t his definition of social grace.

              “We’ve both signed the arrangement and it’d be… improper to break it. It must be sudden, I am aware you must’ve been… inebriated at the time, but Lord Whistlethistle I’m afraid has a good memory when imbibing and the news has already gotten around. The only thing worse for my son’s reputation than a marriage to a man of a lower station is a broken agreement to marry a man of a lower station.”

              “And said man of lower station doesn’t have any say in it?”

              “You’ve technically already signed the agreement. It’s legally binding.” Syldor—straight faced and straight laced—did not seem the type shout ‘punk’d’ no matter how desperately Scanlan wanted him to.

              “We were both balls-to-the-wall drunk!”

              Syldor sipped his tea, pinky out. “Elven law has to no clauses based on intoxication of the signing party. You must understand, as a father, I have to look out for the best interest of my son.”

              “How is marrying your son to a man he’s never met in his best interest. I could be a hobo! Or a criminal! Or a serial killer!”

              “Then you and Vax’ildan will have a lot to bond over.”

              “What.” Syldor just stared back in the face of Scanlan’s confusion and indignation. It was like looking into the abyss if the abyss was really snobby and had bad hair.

              “The laws are quite clear. The walls of Syngorn won’t let the signer of a contract out unless the contract has been fulfilled.”

              “Look, I’m a travelling musician who’s had some run-ins with the law. I am free with my money, my drink, and quite frankly, my love. Not son-in-law material. Trust me, you don’t want me.”

              “Wow, it’s like he’s already part of the family.” Scanlan and Syldor both startle at the unexpected voice. Walking out of the shadows was an elf-ish figure.  He had long black hair and legs that go on for days and a more than passing resemblance to Syldor. Possibly his groom to be? Possibly an assassin?

              “Wait, where did he come from?” The guy just looked at him, amused, as if it was totally normal to emerge out of the shadows. Maybe it was for him, it’s not like Scanlan was an expert on elf-ish men in their twenties with scars and tattoos and piercing. He was merely a dabbler in the night.

              “I’m Vax, son of that guy, your possible husband. Dearest father had such great luck selling off his other bastard, he decided to do the same for the criminal one. I’m a bit surprised he chose you, but hey, whoever takes the trash out.” Vax’ildan’s tone was cheery and just a hint bitter. Everyone knows marriage works best when no one wants it.

              “The gnome did bankrupt Lord Whistleface. And it’s not like you’re flushed with options.” Syldor apparently chose spousal qualifications based on one good hand of cards.

              “Wait, I won? Where did all my winnings go?” Besides his husband (?) but that was more of a losing than anything else.

              “You decided to buy a boa with real dyed owl bear feathers.”

              Clearly Syldor was insane. Or just like an insurmountable asshole. Or both. That was the only explanation he could come up with for the elf-man seeing drunk Scanlan and thinking yes, this is suitable son-in-law material

              Maybe the question wasn’t how drunk Scanlan was to have signed that contract, it was how drunk Syldor was to have given it to him.

              “Hey hubby, don’t you want a say in this?” Come on other elf man. Save yourself since your shithead father won’t.

              The elf-man-boy started to speak, but the actual worst, Syldor, cut him off

              “He’s only twenty and Syngornian law states that the parent has custody until the elf reaches adulthood at one hundred.” That’s the stupidest law Scanlan has ever heard of.

              “That’s the stupidest law I’ve ever heard of, he’s clearly not a full elf—” Scanlan started, before the father of the year cut him off.

              “Non-elves are aberrant enough in Syngorn that the word of the law does not include them.” Syldor spoke with a constant tone, eyes only flickering over briefly to his son who snarled at the words.

              “Surely the spirit of the law…”

              “Elf law cares little for the law’s spirit.” Syldor finished his tea and delicately put it down, serene in the face of total opposition.

              “Fuck elf law” Vax’ildan (?) said. Which was a very valid sentiment that Scanlan could get behind. Do elves do anything right?

              “Wait, if he’s a child under elf law, then how the hell am I marrying him? Syngorn: cool with child marriage

              “You have a very keen legal mind Mr. Shorthalt—”

              “—thank you, I’m good friends with Burt Reynolds esquire, finest legal mind of our time—”

              “—but I’m afraid the marriage contract has already been completed. The only thing left is for you to decide if you take your husband with you.”

              Look, Scanlan had an amazing poker face. But more importantly, he knew how to read other people’s too. Syldor wasn’t bluffing, Scanlan was apparently now a married gnome. But marriage didn’t have to mean something. And it’d probably be bad to leave broody broody elf-ish man here in Syngorn. Quite frankly he couldn’t stand Syldor after being in a room with the man for like half an hour. What happens if you’re raised by him? Nothing good, surely.

              Plus, this was probably the closest he’d ever get to spiting elf law during this trip. Eh, fuck it, he always went all in anyways.

              “Sure,” Pause for dramatic effect “my husband and I will be leaving immediately.”

              Scanlan accompanied his husband as he went to gather his things. Scanlan was only slightly surprised when his hubby grabbed a pre-packed bag and started heading out. Just barely walking at a pace the gnome could keep up with, Scanlan also got to watch a touching father-son parting:

              “I’m only looking out for your best intrest. You will be happier this way.”

              “Fuck off, Syldor.”

              Heartwrenching.

              He basically went the quickest possible way to get out of Syngorn. Give him a shithole like Kymal anytime over this wretched hive of villany. Although, he actually did get accidental married in Kymal too. At least there the contract was non-binding.

              “We can just split up once we leave the city. It’s a marriage in name only. You probably don’t want to be married to a homeless gnome who’ve you’ve never met before who might be a serial killer and I don’t want to be married.”

              “Sounds good.” Vax’ildan seemed uninterested in his new husband, eyes level on the road. Scanlan should probably be grateful they’re on the same page.

              “…Is there somewhere you want to go, something you want to bring, people you want to say your goodbyes too?.”

              “Nah, Syldor sold away the only thing in Syngorn worth a damn already. I would’ve left sooner if it didn’t violate my parole.”

              “What.” It’s not like Scanlan had a crime-free past. A little criminal record builds character. Maybe not the character you want in a husband, but hey. Glass houses.

              “Juvenile convicts can’t leave the city while there on parol. Adults can. A married man is an adult man.” Vax’ildan seemed… very familiar with Syngornian

              “…what were you in jail for?”

              “Oh, murder.”

              There was silence until they passed the city gates.

              “…well it was nice meeting you, husband, hope I never see you again, please don’t kill me.” Scanlan said suavely.

              “You too, I guess.” And Vax’ildan walked off into the sunset, hopefully never to be seen again.

              Unfortunately, Scanlan saw him again like six months later.

              Fortunately, Vax’ildan broke him out of prison.


	2. False Shuffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vax breaks his husband out of jail, it's only the second stupidest thing to happen to him that day.

              Stillben was grimy, crime ridden, and objectively awful. As a criminal, he probably should’ve liked it, but the whole city stank. Of fetid swamp water, of corruption—it was a bad place.

              Plus, the humidity was killing his hair.

              The Clasp liked it, so Vax was here, but every fucking day he went back to his shitty inn room and fantasized about getting the hell out of dodge. There wasn’t much for him to do other than to live daydream to daydream, picking locks and busting heads on autopilot.

              For instance, here, in this moment, he was currently breaking some fuckhead out of prison. Some asshole stupid enough to get caught and unsubtle enough to bribe a guard and would probably go out and hurt people as soon as he got out. Here, in Vax’s head, he was on a nice beach somewhere sipping an appletini with his sister.

              At least that’s where Vax was in his head before he heard someone shout his name.

              Bewildered, he turned to the man who apparently knew something that the Clasp cared about, but he hadn’t appeared to have said anything. Actually, now he was saying something about Vax  hurrying up and getting him out of there. Blink-pop-twist and the lock was free. The clasp asset pushed past him and rushed out. Whatever. It’s not like the guards here would care enough to look. The guy might be dumb enough to, you know, not wait and sneak out with a rescuer but he’d probably be—

              “—Vix man! Vox’imom? Vax’imin? V’e’x’il’i’m’’an?” cried a voice from somewhere.

              The entire jail had maybe ten cells so it was pretty easy to figure out where the noise was coming from. Standing as close to freedom as possible, a gnome squished his face against the bars to call out to him.

              There was a very limited pool of gnomes that knew him. And by pool, he meant ‘two vague acquaintances and oh yeah, his husband.’ Although technically speaking his husband was more of an acquaintance than anything else.

              Still weird as fuck that he ran into the man though. “…what are you doing in a Stillben prison?” A question that has multiple layers: why are you here, why are you here in prison, why haven’t you bribed your way out yet?

              “Oh, you know, I’ve just been thrown in jail and ignored for three days because of some alleged petty theft. The usual. And yourself?” He said this with convincing casualness, but Vax could smell the desperation. Desperation smells very similar to three days in a Stillben prison.

              Vax shrugged and pointed vaguely towards the open door of the prisoner he just freed. He figured it would explain itself. “You know, the guards are just letting you sweat a bit so you’ll pay out more when they ask for the bribe.”

              “Husband, can I ask you a favor? Not the conjugal visit kind although I wouldn’t be opposed…” The gnome threw him a leer that would’ve probably been more effective if his husband had been washed in the past three days.

              “You want me to break you out of jail.”

              “Pretty please?”

              “What’s in it for me?” Honestly, the gnome had enough info on Vax and the asset to make an actual problem if the Myriad came asking around. But best to get leverage while his husband still needed him. People would trade away anything for freedom..

              “I could write you a song? I could give you a pitiful amount of bribe-gold and my autograph? I could show you the world?”   

Vax could translate the gist of that: I’m broke, but I think I’m clever.

Joke’s on him, Vax was broke and knew he wasn’t clever.

              Contemplating on how his life got this point, Vax shimmied the lock open to free his husband, a gnome whose name he wasn’t entirely sure of. The Sand Man? Scammer man? What’s-his-name had better sense than the asset, choosing to look up at Vax and beseech him for guidance. Finger to the mouth, Vax beckoned him to follow.

              “Wait,” his husband said, “you’re emo, right?”

              “What?”

              “Look, do you or do you not have eyeliner on your person?”

              “...I do, but I think you’ve got bigger problems than your make-up, pal.” Nonetheless, Vax handed over a dark tube. Whatever made him shut up.

              Stealthily, they surreptitiously sneaked out, crouched movements furtive and…

              Who the fuck was Vax kidding, they walked out the front door. Scanlan literally went to the front desk and asked for his component pouch. He did some funny trick with the eyeliner while chatting the guard up and walked away purse in hand.

              “Nice makeup,” Vax said quirking his eyebrows up.

              “Thanks” said the racoon-eyed gnome “the guards going to realize I fucked with his head, so please get me the fuck out of here”

              Guard, brow furrowed, apparently realizing he’d just been magic’d starts shouting right as Vax and his husband start running. They turn left, right, right again, but the guard must be new because he keeps pursuit. They cut through an alleyway and hide behind a fruit cart and at one point, they start throwing oranges. Eventually, they think they lose the guard. Maybe.

              Not knowing what else to do with husband, Vax took him up to his room at the shitty inn he was staying at. Let the situation cool down a bit.  The bed creaked as Vax sat down onto it, lone pillow sagging sadly. He stared his husband in the eye. The idea he was forming was a stupid one, but Vex was gone and she was a good portion of his restraint. This plan might just be stupid enough to work. He squinted harder… was he really…?

              Yeah, ok. He was really going to do this.

              “Thanks.” Vax’s husband said. Moments of silence followed. “For saving me.”

              “You’re welcome. Husband.”

              “…neither of us knows each other’s name, huh?”

              “Uh. No.” Vax admitted

              “Scanlan Shorthalt at your service,” Scanlan gave a little bow before adding, “although technically I guess it could be Scanlan whatever your last name is.”

              “It’s Vessar. Trust me, my father wouldn’t take the chance to have another disappointment with his last name. I’m Vax’ildan.”

              “Great to meet you, Vax’ildan, husband of mine. I’m just gonna… go. Thanks for saving me again, super criminal.” He motioned to start walking away, but Vax grabbed his elbow.

              “Not so fast. You met Syldor in a card game, right? Would you say you have friends in high places?” Vax asked.

              “No. Not at all. I just have charisma and stupid luck.” Scanlan seemed desperate to convince him, but jokes on Scanlan: Vax was more desperate.

              “It turns out I need stupid luck. I’m going to take you up on your offer.”

              Scanlan turned away, “…You want a song? I’m afraid there aren’t many good rhymes for—”

              “I want you to show me the world.”

When Vax said this, Scanlan turned back. “…I meant that as a joke.” 

 “I didn’t. My father married off my sister to some jackoff while I was prison and didn’t tell me until I got out. He wouldn’t tell me who. All I know is he’s rich as ball. The Clasp can’t find him. He’s not in Stillben.”

              “No. Find someone else. I’m sorry.” Scanlan, for what it was worth, really did seem sorry. Sorry didn’t fix shit.

              “You’re a traveling musician; you go all over. You get into places and meet people that the bastard half-elf convict can’t. Would you really say no to your savior?”

              “Yes. Watch me do it, right now: no. I’m not exactly a fan of permanent traveling partners. I don’t know anything about you, you might snore.”

Vax started counting on his fingers, “One, we’re married which is pretty permanent; Two, this isn’t _permanent_ permanent, just until I find my sister; Three, you promised me and you owe me and you’re a little bit scared of me. So say yes.”

              Scanlan didn’t say anything for a while. “You’re pretty desperate, aren’t you.” He finally said. He didn’t phrase it as a question, but he didn’t phrase it as a judgement either. His voice was not soft. His eyes were not pitying.

              “Yeah.” He should probably be making a more convincing argument. Lean in on the fact that he promised. Lean in onto the fact that they’re married. Maybe Vax could threaten him. Maybe he could make a pity play: please, she’s my only family left.

              But it’s been several months since he’s had a conversation with someone who knew his name who didn’t break kneecaps for a living. And Vax was tired. So he said nothing.

               “…I’m still banging women while we travel. And I’m still playing gigs! You better not get in the way of either,” Scanlan said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. What’s your opinion of Stillben?”

              “It’s god-awful”

              “Great. Meet me at this inn tomorrow. We leave at dawn.”

              Scanlan grumbled as he left the room. Stage One complete. Now just time to break up with the Clasp.

 

 

              The Spireling in Stillben that Vax reported to was decent enough. Mad as a hatter, but you probably had to be if you were an assassin crimelord in the swampy part of hell. He frowned for a bit when Vax told him he was leaving after he finished reporting about the asset.

              The Spirelling assessed him, fingers steepled, “…do you think you can do that? Just leave the Clasp?”

“I was never a full member. I made a deal with the Clasp in Westruun, but the deal fell through. Certain conditions never came through. I don’t owe the Clasp in Stillben a thing.” Vax had rules for talking with the Clasp. Keep your voice even, keep your body language open, and know where the nearest available window is.

              “That’s not how it works and you know it. Clasp membership is as permanent as the brand on your back. You’re not thinking you could join the Myriad and find your sister, are you?”

              “No, no. I’m just going on a honeymoon with my husband,” Vax said, hands waving to dispel any of the Spireling’s thoughts on disloyalty.

              “…your husband.” The Spireling’s voice is flat. That could mean Vax was in the clear. That could mean the Spireling is preparing to murder him.

              “He’s a traveling musician.”

              “You have a musician for your husband.”

              “…yes?”

“And you want to go on a vacation with your traveling musician husband?”

“Yes.” Well, the kind of vacation you never return from.

              “…okay.” A disbelieving acquiesce is still permission. Vax waved a cheery goodbye. And then he went to the bar. He was going to get drunk one last time in this miserable city and then never see it again. He was not going to spend twelve hours in Stillben sober.

              There was a nice quiet bar a few streets down where no one talked and he could get smashed.

 

 

 

 

              Vax was not used to waking up in this situation. First of all, he was in a bed that wasn’t shit. It wasn’t his bed, but hey, that was nothing new. Second of all, the room was nice. Like really nice. He’s pretty sure those were frescoes on the wall there. The sconces were rose gold. Third of all, he was waking up next to someone he kinda knew. His husband. That was new. Fourth of all, there’s was a live goat and a dead swan in the room. For some reason.

              The goat bleated pitifully. His hangover throbbed pitifully. His husband, the bastard, was still asleep. He could fix one of those things.

              Vax roughly shook Scanlan up, “Wake up, we’ve got a problem.”

              “Vax? What’re you doin’ here? I thought we were supposed to meet at dawn. Its only--” the gnome, clad only in a purple toga, looked out the window “—midafternoon.”

              “Is this your room?”

              “Nope!” Scanlan said, cheery as a hungover man could be, the bastard.

              “This isn’t my room.” Vax was pretty sure of that.

              “No.”

              “Do you know whose…?”

              “I know nothing about this room.” Scanlan said, apparently unconcerned.

              “Do you know something about the animals?”

              “What ani--. Oh. Those animals. How’d they get in here?”

              “Do you know anything?” An explanation, an excuse, a way out, Vax would take anything.

              “I’m pretty sure we got matching tattoos.” Scanlan offered instead.

              “What.”

              “I feel familiar, yet regrettable pain on my lower back.” Now that Scanlan mentioned it, Vax felt a kind of really painful itching on his back. A looming sense of dread filled his heart. He crawled out of the bed and towards the dresser where a mirror with gilt edges stood. When he twisted around, he could see in bright purple letters, right over the clasp brand tlahtrohS nalnacS.

              “What do you remember from last night?” Scanlan said gently.

              He remembered a quiet bar, a few beers, maybe a bit of whiskey. It was really quiet for most of the night. Then some kind of pub crawl came in? And there was a goliath with some baller tattoos. And he tried to chat her up, but she laughed at him. And offered him some drink. Dividing plane moonshine?

              It had burned like fuck, but the other guy who tried and failed to get with the goliath started choking.

              Oh yeah. The other guy. His husband.

              ...something about goliath wedding traditions?

              “How,” Vax started because he didn’t want to deal with any of the memories coming back, “are you not freaking out about this more?”

              “It’s just a tattoo,”

              “A tattoo is permanent!”

              “Sure, husband” Scanlan said with emphasis. “This is like, my third tramp stamp, this is my first marriage in my real name.”

              Vax stared at the ceiling and wondered what god hated him

              “We should go,” Scanlan said, “before whoever actually lives in this room comes back.”

              “I’m not sure if I have any clothes.” He had underwear, a decent amount of body paint on, and exactly one sock.

              Gesturing at his own toga, Scanlan pointed out that he had a sheet.

              He was not kidding.

              “We can get you clothes later. It’s temporary.” Scanlan said. Vax, mildly begrudgingly, began to fashion the red silk sheets into a toga.

              “Hey, apropos of nothing, do you think you can climb down this wall?” Scanlan asked.

              Probably not. But they weren’t that high up and he saw a few balconies. Must be an apartment complex of some kind. “I can get down.” Vax decided to say.

              “Great! You know, I was worried before that you’d cramp my style. But one wacky shenanigan later, I think you might make a great, if broody, straight man.” And then the gnome teleported away.

              “I broke him out of prison.” Vax said to the goat.

He had the answer to which god hated him. All of them, probably.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing and I might've spoiled the plot, but fuck it, I already made the aesthetic post.
> 
> Say hi at anironicattempt.tumblr.com


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